


Gonna Load My Rifle, Gonna Aim It At the Dying Star

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Depression, Gen, Mentions of Blood, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 18:29:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2160669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>The whole world was so bright and green.</em>
  <br/><em> It made Grantaire want to vomit.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Goes with this playlist: http://8tracks.com/teastarra/just-drunk-enough</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gonna Load My Rifle, Gonna Aim It At the Dying Star

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Andrew Jackson Jihad's "Hate, Rain On Me"
> 
> This is just some short lil angst I wrote while I was in school and feeling shitty. The fact that it goes perfectly with my playlist is purely coincidental. I think it might be the first thing I've ever posted that isn't fluff wow. Also can someone tell me how to put that link in the description so it isn't ugly like that? I'm too dumb to figure out HTML stuff wow.

Green.

The whole world was bright and green.  
It made Grantaire want to vomit.

And, actually, he might. He'd long since lost count of how many bottles of whisky he'd had. He'd been drinking since the sky was dark and starless and he had felt alive.  
But as the sun crept up and shed light on to the dirty city, it had reminded Grantaire of his worthlessness. Of his failures.

It was Thursday. Or was it Wednesday? Grantaire couldn't remember anymore. Either way, he technically had a class he was skipping. For the best, probably. He'd rather fail for not showing up than for trying and getting everything all wrong.

Enjolras would be disappointed in him.

He could see it in his head, brilliant blue eyes looking down on him, a god-like face scrunched up in disguist, "You really are good for nothing, Grantaire," He would say, "Look at you, laying around on the ground, doing nothing but getting drunk and being lazy. Absolutely useless."

"I'm sorry." Grantaire heard himself whipser, "I'm sorry, Apollo, please forgive me." His voice was raw and scratchy and just barely there.

"You can't even apologize properly. Pathetic. Do you honestly expect me to listen to that?"

"No, no. I'm sorry. Please. Please forgive me. I'll do anything you want me to, Apollo. Anything for you."

Mind-Enjolras let out a sharp, bitter laugh that stabbed Grantaire right in the heart, "You can't do anything."

"Please."

"You're incapable. Useless."

"I know."

Grantaire finished his bottle and then fumbled around for another. Picking one up, opened it with shaky hands and drank half at once. It burned his throat and he relished it.

He gripped the bottle so tightly he thought it might shatter. He hoped it did. He wanted to feel the glass digging into the palm of his hand, sending deep red ribbons down his forearm, staining his already filthy hoodie. Instead, he moved his hand to the neck of the bottle and raised his arm before smashing it on the ground beside him. Alcohol and glass shards splashed onto his jeans, but he didn't care.

He felt himself crying. Softly at first, a few silent tears rolling slowly down his face. Then quickly evolving into loud, whining sobs that shook his whole body. He screamed. He screamed as loud as he could even though it set his throat on fire. He screamed and screamed and didn't stop screaming until he grew far too exhausted to continue.

He wished he could get up and close his blinds, block out the nauseating green of spring. Shut out the sun that only made him think of Enjolras and how he'd let him down. But he was too dizzy to stand, so instead he just pulled his hoodie over his head until it hid his face, letting himself slip further down the wall he sat against.

Eventually, maybe, he could fall asleep on his living room floor just like this.

Eventually, maybe, he could never wake up.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah so um, tell me what you think?? ouo 
> 
> Should I write anymore or?


End file.
